


Bottled

by micehell



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: M/M, PWP, fluff with an eensy amount of past angst, mention of Muraki and all that entails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-13
Updated: 2006-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hisoka's compulsion to kiss Tsuzuki had faded long before the desire to do so had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottled

Hisoka looked at the bottle.

Nothing happened.

He picked up a pen off his desk, threw it at the bottle. It bounced off it with a ping, the bottle giving one slight tilt before settling, and the pen rolling along the floor for a moment before it went still.

Nothing happened.

Screwing up his courage, Hisoka moved closer to the bottle, reaching out one - slightly shaking - finger, and cautiously touched its tip to the smooth glass in front of him.

Nothing happened.

Hisoka sighed. Whatever else would happen with Watari's experiment, at least it wouldn't explode when he handled it. Now if he could only keep himself from exploding when he drank it.

He took the bottle with him to the living room, sitting in his one comfortable chair, the one Tsuzuki always claimed when he came over. If he was going to do this, and possibly wind up collapsing, he wanted to at least be comfortable when he did so.

Opening the bottle, he sniffed its contents, pulling away when a strong odor assaulted him. Whatever the stuff was, it was pungent. It smelled kind of like bread soaked in sake, or at least what he imagined that would smell like, because he'd never actually come across it. His one experience with sake… well, it had left him hesitant about having any more.

It was that hesitancy in him, not about sake, but about… other things, that made Hisoka hold his breath and take a deep drink from the bottle. It burned going down, and he coughed, almost bringing it back up. It sat sourly in his stomach, still unsure about staying there, but Hisoka willed it to settle, and it did.

Besides the threat of vomiting, however, nothing happened.

Hisoka sighed again. He should have known that nothing would. It was just that his last - involuntary - exposure to one of Watari's experiments had given him the false hope that this one would work. After all, Watari had been trying, for reasons that even he couldn't adequately explain, to turn a human into an octopus, and Hisoka had become one. Of a sort.

He looked at the bottle again, its innocuous surface hiding an innocuous content. Except… except he could feel a warmth stealing over him, sliding along his veins to warm his limbs, his face. Maybe it just took time to work. Maybe it just took more.

Another deep pull on the bottle, and it didn't taste quite so bad this time, kind of warm and bubbly and _palpable_ , like a solid disguised as a liquid. The burn in his throat was lighter, but the burn in his veins was growing, and he felt as if his whole body was flushing.

Hisoka giggled, then frowned as he realized what he'd done. He was happy that Watari's experiment appeared to be doing something, but it was no reason to get giddy. Especially considering last time.

Without even realizing it, he took another sip, thinking about what had led to this. It was somewhat his fault, because he'd known Watari was around, and yet he'd still been standing somewhat close to Tsuzuki - and he didn't _always_ stand too close to the man, no matter what Terezuma wanted to imply. That's why, when Watari had launched his surprise experiment at his favorite target, Hisoka had wound up being the target instead.

Another drink, and the fire was fading, leaving a languid warmth flowing through him, and he smiled instead of frowned when he thought about how surprised Watari had been when Hisoka, instead of transforming into a predatory mollusk with far too many limbs, had transformed into a predatory shinigami with far too many. Or at least Tsuzuki hadn't seemed to be able to adequately deal with the two Hisoka had, both of them making themselves right at home on his partner's body, pulling him close. Touching him.

Hisoka's face burned, embarrassed at how he'd just _taken_ like that, even if it had been the experiment's fault. The stirring in his cock let Hisoka know that embarrassment wasn't the only thing he was feeling at the memory, and that was embarrassing, too.

He'd all but raped Tsuzuki right there in the office, touching and kissing him while everyone was watching, Watari running off shouting that he had something to fix the situation. But Hisoka hadn't wanted it to be fixed. Not then, with the feel of Tsuzuki under his hands. Tsuzuki who was so beautiful that people, dead and alive, stared. Tsuzuki, who still looked at Tatsumi with that wistful expression sometimes, even though it had been _years_.

Tsuzuki, who hadn't been fighting Hisoka at all. Who'd been kissing him back, even with Tatsumi watching, and Terezuma making choking noises, and Watari's cure hitting both of them.

Hisoka's compulsion to kiss Tsuzuki had faded long before the desire to do so had.

He tilted the bottle up, wanting another sip, but it was empty. For a moment Hisoka thought he was going to cry in his disappointment. He shook his head, sure that he didn't usually cry over such things, but it wasn't worth worrying about. Not when the sadness was fading at the memory of Tsuzuki in his arms, Tsuzuki who'd said what had happened had been anything but rape.

His cock was fully hard now, and Hisoka hesitantly brushed at it through the cloth of his pants. That felt… good. He giggled again, laughing at his surprise. People masturbated every day. People had sex everyday, too. There must be something about it that was enjoyable, or why would they bother?

Still not sure about what he was doing, Hisoka pulled the cock out of his pants, looking clinically at the organ. Red and swollen, and kind of funny looking. He wondered if it was small or large, or maybe neither. He wondered if Tsuzuki would like it either way. If maybe Tsuzuki would run his hand down the length like Hisoka was doing, and if it would feel as good when he did it as it felt now.

There was a pool of heat low in his stomach, though Hisoka didn't know if it was the experiment or his own arousal. He touched the head of his cock, watching curiously as a sign of his pleasure oozed from the slit. He'd never done this before; just at the edge of too young when he'd gotten sick, and then the pain that he'd lived with after had never lent itself to pleasure.

Inexperience was fading quickly as his hand became more sure, moving faster and harder as it sought out the spots on his cock that liked touch best, as his other hand, pushing his pants further down, traced over the feather soft hair of his balls, the sac pulling up further as he handled it.

He tried to imagine touching Tsuzuki like this, having Tsuzuki touch him, and he moaned as his cock filled impossibly more, the hardness painful, wonderful. Images were flashing in front of him as he worked his body, and it was almost like he could feel the things he saw playing in his mind: Tsuzuki kissing him, pulling his clothes off, pushing him down on the bed, moving over him with lips and hands and…

Like a slap, it was Muraki in the visions, and Hisoka was shaking his head, shaking, cursing himself. This really wasn't the time to be thinking about the past.

This… was why he'd needed Watari's help in the first place, and why he'd asked for it even though it had been as embarrassing as hell.

Watari's octopus experiment had been a failure - as were most of them, really - but it had been a revelation for Hisoka. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he'd been _disinclined_ towards sex in life, for obvious reasons, and that, with the memories that Muraki had reawakened in him, he'd carried that disinclination with him into death. Eternity without ever knowing the touch - the invited touch - of another, and Hisoka had been all right with that.

Until the experiment.

Then, when he'd spent the rest of the day with half the office laughing, with Watari apologizing, with Tsuzuki telling him it was okay, and with his own face red with shame, and his cock hard with longing, he'd known it for a lie. He wanted his partner, probably had all along, and had just been too ignorant to know better. But the thought of having sex, of letting someone do to him what Muraki had done… even knowing that rape and sex were two different things, Hisoka hadn't been ready to face that.

Hisoka looked down at his cock, softened a little by his thoughts, but still hard, still seeping precome at the tip. The arousal was still in him, his need greater than an old fear, one that he should have dealt with years before.

He shook his head, needing self-recrimination no more than he needed a trip down memory lane. Tsuzuki didn't… well, actually Tsuzuki did think too much about the past, about everything, one of the traits the partners shared, but at least Tsuzuki could _fake_ living in the present.

But Hisoka was determined to do more than fake it. His fear of what Muraki had done gave the man too much power over him when they met, and Hisoka needed all the advantage he could gain over the doctor's darkly clever ways. That fear was also keeping him from living his life… death… whatever he had, the way he wanted to. Hisoka knew he was brave about many things, but he wanted to be brave about this, too.

His cock hardened again at his determination, at his touch, and it was a fair reward for having overcome his embarrassment enough to go to Watari and ask for help. That conversation had been awkward and overlong, but Watari hadn't laughed or joked - anymore than usual, anyway - and he'd handed over the bottle without anything other than a, "I think this might help."

Orgasm caught Hisoka by surprise, not having quite realized that that's what it would feel like. To his embarrassment, which was almost permanent at this time, he screamed when it hit, but embarrassment, thoughts of the past, worries of the future, all flooded from his body, leaving only contentment and sleep in its wake.

He woke a couple of hours later, his face crushed into a corner of the chair, his skin and pants crusted with dried semen, a taste in his mouth that was much worse than the reek of sex, and a headache that was swelling in and out, reawakening his stomach's decision to empty itself of the experiment that Hisoka had put in it.

After long, long minutes over the toilet, bringing up the experiment - and everything else he'd ever drank or eaten, for his entire life, apparently - he was finally able to take a shower, getting rid of the rest of the evidence of what he'd done.

Wiping the mirror clear of steam, he looked at himself. Now that the headache was gone, he felt like he could think clearly for the first time since he'd been turned into an octopus. The boy's face in the mirror didn't look any different than it had in years, but Hisoka fancied there might be a different air about him. One that said he was approachable, friendly even.

He shook his head, negating the lie, knowing his air really wasn't any different than usual. He hadn't changed. He still would rather be alone than in a crowd. He still thought most people were idiots. He still wanted to touch his partner and be touched by him. He was Hisoka, and neither experiment had changed that.

But he certainly didn't regret what had happened, what was going to continue to happen. And maybe he wasn't quite yet able to banish all thoughts of Muraki, but nothing good ever came easily. He had always been a hard worker, though, and this wouldn't be the time that changed.

Later, Hisoka walked by some of his coworkers without nodding, because, really, he _hadn't_ changed, though he did have to fight the little smile that wanted to play across his lips. He saw Watari, and let the smile have its way. He gave a wave as he passed the man, face blushing again as he almost whispered, "Thanks for the experiment. It worked… very well."

Watari looked surprised, but he smiled back, nothing little about it, his teeth almost blinding in the morning light. "You're welcome, Bon, but it was just…"

Tsuzuki came up, his cheerful, "Good morning," overriding what Watari had been saying, so that Hisoka only caught, "beer," at the end. He was too busy noting how good Tsuzuki looked that morning to really pay it any attention, though, and he just gave an absent nod as he and his partner made their way to their desks.

And if Tatsumi goggled over the fact that Tsuzuki had done more work at the end of the day (Tsuzuki - almost half of one report done, Hisoka - nothing), Hisoka was too busy thinking of all the different ways it might be pleasurable to touch himself to notice.

/story


End file.
